


Sucker

by Shipaholic



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Glee
Genre: (so far!), Crossover, Gen, Glee S1 AU, Post-Chosen, Silliness (or is it?), and a reference to Sandy Ryerson being gross, but possibly not all that canon-compliant it's been a while since I saw Buffy, no Buffy characters here sorry, probably eventual gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipaholic/pseuds/Shipaholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new extra curricular at McKinley High. Bring your stakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sucker

**Author's Note:**

> Because I really needed to start another crossover...
> 
> Hi all! This is a Glee Season 1 AU, in which things get a little vampiric.
> 
> In a post-Chosen universe, any girl who can be a Slayer, will be a Slayer. Even in the midwest.
> 
> But someone's still got to take over Glee Club...

Mercedes could swear this had been a normal conversation five minutes ago.

Don’t get her wrong, Ms Pillsbury was always weird. She was addicted to hand-sanitizer and seemed constantly on the verge of tears. One time Mercedes had filed her nails in her office while collecting a pamphlet on anger management (which, damnit, she didn't need - she had barely nudged that dude, by accident, and somehow he hit a locker hard enough to dent it?), and after she'd left she'd seen Ms P. on her knees frantically hand-vacuuming under Mercedes's vacated chair.

But this was something else. They had been discussing her choices of AP classes (none, she only wanted to be a singer so why bother?), her extra curriculars (just Glee club), her feelings on being a Sophomore (Mercedes was hoping for some actual friends this time around - people whose nails she could paint and outfits she could critique, who would help her become the kind of HBIC for the alternative crowd she's always known deep down she was meant to be)... Normal stuff. And then - boom. Bizarro world.

Mercedes swallowed and looked back down at the pamphlet resting on top of her new class schedule.

CONGRATULATIONS, YOU'RE A VAMPYRE SLAYER! It proclaimed in red font. There was a picture underneath of a skinny blonde girl high-kicking a guy in the face and taking his head off in a spurt of blood. The guy was very pale and had sharp teeth.

“You must have a lot of questions,” Ms Pillsbury said breathily.

Mercedes looked up. The guidance counsellor's eyes were huge in her pale face. She looked like a helpful, ginger rabbit.

“Is this one of those LARP things?”

“Um.” Ms P's smile faltered. “I don't know what that is, Mercedes, but I'm going to say no.”

“But it is an extracurricular, right? Because I'm happy just doing Glee club.” Well. She'd be happier if Mr Ryerson the director wasn't a high-strung shrieky weirdo, but at least she got to sing (and exchange silent, vicious elbow-fights with Rachel Berry over who got to stand closer to the front of the stage).

Ms Pillsbury's smile was back in full force. “You know, Mercedes, in a way it is like an extracurricular. Think of it as a... self-defence course.”

Mercedes pulled a face. “Don't get me wrong, Ms P, but I'd be better off learning how to dodge slushies than punch dudes in the -”

“It teaches you how to kill the undead!” Ms Pillsbury burst out. She coughed and lowered her voice. “You've been chosen to be a vampire slayer. In Lima.”

Mercedes' eyebrows rose skyward.

“...It's very selective - ok, it's random, but it's a great honour, Mercedes, and you should be very proud. And, um, you should start training straight away because creatures of the night have a reputation for being, well, cranky towards Slayers.”

Mercedes couldn't help it - she giggled. “Vampires, Ms P? You mean like Robert Pattinson? 'Cause you should ask that girl in the AV club, she's got like a shrine in her locker...”

Ms Pillsbury's face twitched. “I am distressed by your limited popular culture knowledge. No, Mercedes, Robert Pattinson is not involved.”

“Fine with me, he's not my type.” Mercedes shuffled her feet. She guessed she should be grateful Ms Pillsbury hadn’t gone straight for the black students union. “You know what, Ms Pillsbury - I'll take a look.” Well, why not? This conversation was trippy and she wanted out. She could always drop the pamphlet in the trash once she was a safe distance away.

Ms Pillsbury clasped her hands together and beamed at Mercedes over the desk. “Wonderful! So, come back and talk to me once you've got acquainted with the material, and we'll go from there.” She stood up, smoothing non-existent creases in her pencil skirt, and held out a bony arm over the desk.

Mercedes hesitated for a moment, then shook her hand. Ms P had no grip whatsoever. “Yay,” she said, not quite sarcastically. There was a limit on how rude she was prepared to be to teachers, and she couldn't help feeling kind of sorry for Ms Pillsbury. She looked like a snack for a larger, more assertive animal. Coach Sylvester, maybe.

That said, shaking the woman's hand felt weirdly like signing a contract.

Mercedes gathered her schedule and pamphlet, and left the office.

When she glanced back, she could see Ms Pillsbury attacking the chair she'd been sitting in with a wet wipe.

 

-x-

 

For some reason, Mercedes didn't throw out the pamphlet. She ended up getting it out during her next class instead of the Marie Clare she usually reserved for times of boredom.

SO YOU'VE BEEN CONSCRIPTED TO FIGHT THE FORCES OF DARKNESS!

The font they'd used was... chipper.

Mercedes skimmed three paragraphs of stakes and holy water and ‘decapitation versus immolation as the most effective finishing move’ and seriously what the hell. It was obvious Ms P had gone insane from praying to the moon goddess to purge the world of germs or something, and was trying to recruit students for a midnight death-and-Dettol cult. Mercedes sensed blood-flavoured kool-aid in her future.

Totally unnerved, she stuffed the pamphlet back in her bag. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez were flashing identical Head Bitch stares her way. As if she wasn't freaked out enough.

“C-c-can I borrow your calculator?” someone whispered at her side.

Mercedes had forgotten there was someone sitting next to her. She gave her desk partner a blank look. Why did she want a calculator?... oh yeah, math class. OK, maybe it wouldn't hurt to pay a little attention.

She dug around in the bottom of her bag for the calculator, dislodging everything from the neat stacks she'd arranged them in so they'd fit. As she handed it over to the girl (who in spite of the fierce rock-chick outfit and bright blue streaks in her hair, had the meekest face Mercedes had ever seen), an arm snaked over from the next table and grabbed the pamphlet.

Mercedes whipped around, face set to I-will-end-you. Santana Lopez smirked back at her, slowly fanning herself with the stolen pamphlet.

Mr Flannery picked this moment to notice people weren't paying attention.

“Kids, I did not skip CSI: Los Angeles to write up the lesson plan for this class so you could undermine my authority. The next person to cause a distraction gets to proof-read my Caruso/Horatio fan fiction. Understood?”

Like everything he said, this was met with a creeped-out pause from the entire room.

“Ask Jones, she’d like it,” Santana mumbled. Quinn covered a smile with one manicured hand. They’d opened the pamphlet to the immolation chapter.

Mercedes expressed her feelings by jabbing her pencil into her maths book. It ripped through every page right to the back.

Sophomore year sucked.

 

-x-

 

Emma thought her talk with Mercedes had gone pretty well.

She'd nipped to the store at the beginning of the lunch break and bought a half-packet of Nilla wafers to celebrate. She wasn't a cookie addict, but they were so... comfortingly vacuum-sealed. Now she was perched on the edge of a chair in the staffroom, trying not to get crumbs down her blouse in front of Will Schuester, so maybe it was an overly-impetuous buy.

Sue Sylvester was talking, which would normally mean Emma was grinding her teeth and trying not to snipe at her. This time, she was tuning her out and going over the conversation from her office in her mind. Her first ever Slayer-Watcher conference.

She'd expected some... well, drama, honestly. She didn't stereotype very often - she rationed it out, like shouting, or duvet days - but she had been braced for a more teenaged response. Tears, denial. Mockery. Mercedes had been nothing but calm.

Emma knew things might be different when Mercedes had read the pamphlet. She wasn't going to be too optimistic. But for now, she was... non-pessimistic. Which was nice.

And Will was somehow being adorable while stirring a cup of coffee and nodding along to Sue's no-doubt horrifying monologue. Emma sighed. Then coughed when a few crumbs went down her throat.

"Hey, did you guys hear Sandy Ryerson's gone missing?"

It was Ken Tanaka who'd said it. Emma's cough redoubled.

"Missing?" Will looked over at Ken, alert. "Who's going to take over Glee club?"

Sue gave a lizard-like smile. "Oh, I doubt anyone on God's earth cares, William." She stepped towards the door. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have an appointment with a hypnotherapist. Just want to prove it doesn't work on me."

She was gone. For once, Emma's world was not improved by her absence.

"Hey, I'll get you some water," said Will. Emma swooned, in-between coughs.

Ken sat in the nearest chair, then scraped it even closer. "You bothered about Ryerson, Emmanem? Yeah, it's pretty messed up. Just yesterday I went jogging after work, to my car, you know? Anyone could have coshed me in the parking lot. Crazy world."

Imagining Ken getting coshed on the head calmed Emma down to the point where her cough had gone when Will brought over the water. She smiled at him and sipped anyway.

"So, Sandy, huh?" Will said. "That's pretty disturbing."

"Vanished after school." Ken paused to take a big gulp of coffee. "He could be stuffed in a locker, right here in the building."

Emma blanched. She really, really hoped he wasn't.

"I don't think the lockers are big enough," Will said after a diplomatic pause.

"They could have cut him up," Ken muttered.

"I'm sure he just went away for some reason and didn't tell anyone," said Will firmly.

Emma doubted it.

Hopefully the student records on file in her office would contain Mercedes Jones's cell number.

 

-x-

 

It was all over school the next day that creepy Mr Ryerson had vanished.

"I'm telling you, dude, drug lords got him. Chronic Lady got too big. I've seen it before, in Westerville they pulled out a guy's -"

"Nah, Fight Club, man. Grabbed him off the street. Someone's making soap out of him right now. You heard it from me first."

"Shut up, you know we're not supposed to talk about -"

"Mr Ryerson's in Fight Club?"

"Does he look like he's in Fight Club?"

"Stop talking about -"

"You're all idiots. He probably touched up the wrong kid and somebody's rich dad had him whacked. Hey, do you think that's why Hank Saunders skipped yesterday?"

Mercedes stood at her locker, eddies of gossip pulling at her from all directions. This is where having friends would have come in useful. Her classmates were clearly all gullible as hell, but at least they had someone to bitch with when stuff went down.

She took advantage of being concealed behind her locker door to send a quick prayer for Mr Ryerson. She knew it was lame, and he was a gross waxwork of a person with no fashion or music sense, but she didn't think on balance that he deserved to be turned into soap.

That said, if he got replaced by a teacher who knew an amazing voice when they heard it...

As if summoned by thoughts in common, Rachel Berry swished into the hall. Her pearls and heels clicked in tandem as she marched up to Mercedes. Mercedes tried to banish her telepathically. Turned out there was no need - Rachel was walking past, coming to a swivel-and-stop in the centre of the corridor.

"Fellow students of McKinley," Rachel said. Her voice warbled with whatever deep injustice she must feel had befallen her. "As we are all aware, due to Hank Saunders' irresponsible hooky-playing at this crucial time, a position has opened up as Glee Club lead vocalist. Before I accept this honour, I wish to address the hateful rumours that I was the one behind that pathetic closet-case Sandy Ryerson's untimely death."

Mercedes glanced around to confirm that nobody was listening. She slammed her locker closed and headed off for her next class.

"...not homophobic. As a matter of fact, I have two gay dads..."

On the way, Mercedes passed Asshole Puck from the football team. He was carrying a slushie with purpose. She averted her eyes. There but for the grace of God.

Her phone started ringing as she reached the door to her History classroom. Unrecognised number - fourth since yesterday afternoon. Mercedes frowned and hit 'ignore'.

Behind her, Rachel's monologue ended in a shriek.

 

-x-

 

Turned out, Mr Schuester the sorta-cute Spanish teacher with the ugly vests had jumped at the chance to take over Glee club. Which meant Mercedes had to audition again. Whatever, she'd got this.

As she turned away from the sign-up sheet, currently bearing her name and no-one else's, a cup of Slushie blasted her square in the face.

_ Oh hell no. _

Mercedes' ears rang, blanking out the laughter in the hall. She stood where she'd been struck, nerves shocked alive with cold, while the Slushie dripped in lumps under her clothes.

"Hey Aretha, give us a high note!" Some jerk on the football team, hi-fiving his equally tall, muscly, brainless friend.

Asshole Puck was the one holding the empty cup. Apparently getting Rachel yesterday hadn't tided him over. He didn't even bother to one-liner her, just smirked and bumped three outstretched fists in a row, then turned away. The rest of the boys trailed behind him, still laughing and clapping.

Mercedes regained control of her legs and staggered the six feet to the girls’ bathroom. She groped for the sink, half-blind from a combo of rage and slushie in her eye.

The tap wrenched off in her hand.

Mercedes breathed out. Then in.

This was karma. She’d probably murdered someone in a past life. And if anything else went wrong, she swore she would do a repeat in this one.

She flung the tap back into the sink.

A noise went off like a traffic accident. Screeches and crunches reverberated around the bathroom; Mercedes leaped back, grabbing both sides of her head to block out the sound. When it ended, she stared into the sink for the source.

The tap had ripped right through several inches of porcelain and was now embedded in the pipe under the sink. The mangled plumbing let out a distressed gurgle, as if entering its death-throes.

Apparently her past self was a _serial killer._

“Oh. My god,” someone said behind her.

Mercedes spun around.

It was the punk girl from maths, who had just emerged from a stall. Today her hair was streaked pink. She was wearing a leather miniskirt over plaid-patterned leggings, and a round-eyed, awed expression.

“You just destroyed school property. That was so badass,” she breathed.

There was still time to run away. Mercedes wondered if this girl could be bribed.

“Oh my _god_ ,” someone else said, sounding much less impressed.

Mercedes nearly slipped in the slushie puddle forming at her feet as she turned to see Quinn Fabray, immaculate as ever in her Cheerios uniform, in the doorway to the bathroom.

“PMS much?” Quinn said. Her perfect face was wrinkled in distaste. “God, I thought Rachel Streisand was the biggest freak in our grade.”

Mercedes opened her mouth, and realised she had no idea how to defend herself. How could she when she didn’t even understand how this had happened?

“Don’t bother, She-Hulk. I’ll just hold it until you’ve gone.” Quinn backed through the door and into Santana Lopez. Santana, unlike Quinn, looked delighted. Her malicious little face lingered in the open door after Quinn beckoned her away. When she departed, Mercedes could hear both Cheerios hooting with laughter all the way down the hall.

Mercedes felt like kicking something. Except with her luck she’d knock down an entire wall. She knew the school liked to save money, but she was sure they must have violated building codes in this bathroom.

Turning back, she saw the punk girl had slunk back into the stall.

“Oh, now you’re scared I’m going to punch you?” Mercedes snapped.

The girl shuffled forwards again, eyes skittering from Mercedes to the floor. “N-no. I was hiding from those Cheerios. Sometimes they slushie me too.”

“Oh.” A fellow loser. Mercedes sighed. She just wanted to be warm and dry, and of sound mind. How hard could that be?

She stepped to an undamaged sink and carefully ran the hot tap. After a few seconds, the other girl sidled over and handed her a wad of paper towels.

“I’m T-Tina.”

Mercedes sighed again and accepted the towels. “Thanks Tina. And for the record, this was an accident, this school uses cheap-ass building materials, and you had better not go around telling anyone that I smash up sinks for fun.”

“Who would I tell?” Tina asked with a nervous smile.

There was a pause while Mercedes washed her face.

“Are you in Glee club?” Tina eventually asked.

Mercedes frowned into the mirror. “Yup.” Her neck was still sticky. Ugh.

“M-m-me too. Well, I’m auditioning anyway. I heard the last director got horribly murdered,” Tina said brightly.

“That makes you want to join?”

“Um, kinda.” Tina’s face had that glow again, same as before when she thought Mercedes was a vandal. “I’m a little obsessed with death,” she said dreamily.

“I have a pamphlet I can give you,” Mercedes muttered. Oh wait, no. Quinn and Santana still had it.

They returned to silence while Mercedes dabbed at the bright purple stain on her tee-shirt. Again Tina was the one to break it. “Have you picked your audition song?”

Mercedes allowed herself a smile in the mirror. “Sure have. And it’s a killer, just so you’re warned.”

Tina passed her another wad of towels. “Can I hear it? Maybe after school?”

Mercedes eyed her with suspicion, wondering if this was a bid to steal her song. Then it occurred to her that someone besides her mom was asking to hang out with her, for the first time since grade school.

“OK. It can’t hurt.”

Tina beamed.


End file.
